From Teen Bride To Hot Wife, 4: Lady And Servants. free porn video

"Why should I undress for you?" Caroline asks Lady Dammartin.

"Because that is what I wish," Lady Dammartin says. She turns to Old James and tells him, "Please ensure the girl complies."

The servant moves towards Caroline who quickly holds up her arm like a policeman at a junction controlling traffic.

"I haven't finished talking!" she tells him.

Her own commanding tone surprises her, and for a moment Old James hesitates. There is uncertainty in his eyes. He looks at Lady Dammartin for direction.

Caroline turns to face Lady Dammartin. "Your husband never mentioned anything about a wife when he invited me here."

"Whatever Lord Dammartin has paid you I will match. Now please remove that item of clothing that masquerades as a dress."

Another two hundred pounds is something Caroline had not anticipated: she quickly loosens the dress from her shoulders and eases it over her body. Though Lady Dammartin is tall and has that horsy vigour that the country gentry invariably seems to possess, Caroline cannot imagine her capable of delivering the same pain her husband only recently inflicted. Or is it something else Lady Dammartin has in mind? Caroline shudders.

By the look in Lady Dammartin's eyes, Caroline begins to understand her own worth. She tosses her head and sends her hair flying back from her face, holds herself proudly and meets the older woman's gaze with unflinching surety.
 
"Turn around, girl. I want to see if he has hurt you."

Caroline slowly turns. As she does so, lady Dammartin comes closer, and just like her husband before her, she stoops down to inspect Caroline's buttocks.

"Oh, you poor girl. What a beast that man can be." She stands up straight again and turns to face to Old James, says, "Help me with my things if you would, James. We must make amends for my husband's inhospitality."

Lady Damartin is dressed in a classic tweed suit, whose fabric is all muted tones, the skirt of which is pencil tight, shaped to taper tight at the knees; there is a matching cropped jacket that Caroline thinks old fashioned, but today she would think was chic. Pinned to the lapel is a peacock broach whose jewelled tail feathers catch the light as well as Caroline's eye.

Below the jacket, she wears a pale blue silk blouse, and around her neck hang strings of pearls, pale as tiny noons; her make-up is subtle yet effective, her hair exquisitely styled. Caroline wishes her own mother, who Caroline reckons to be a similar age to Lady Dammartin, would dress like this, could be as elegant and poised in middle-age.

As she removes her outer clothes, Lady Dammartin passes them to James, one item at a time. Caroline wonders why it's not Tillycoat or Nibley who attend their mistress. When she is down to chamise, stockings and her heels, Lady Dammartin chooses one of the many antique chairs to sit on.

She strikes a pose, legs together, tight at the knee, with her claves a little to one side, ankles together. The heels of her shoes turn her calves nicely, and Caroline hears the hiss of nylon rubbing as she shifts in her seat. She sees the strip and clip of suspender white against her lightly tanned thigh where her stocking top does not reach.

The aristocrat sits with palms gently rested in her lap. Caroline is entranced by her ease, the grace she casually displays as she goes about her — Well, goes about being Lady Dammartin. She tries to image a young Lady Dammartin fresh out of some continental finishing school, its lessons now the fabric of her soul. Caroline wishes someone had finished her before turning her out into the world.

"Now come to me," Lady Dammartin says, and Caroline does as she is told. "Now, young lady, if you could see your way to arrange your lovely posterior over my knee. That's right, just as you were for Lord Dammartin. Yes, perfect."

Caroline is stretched out across Lady Dammartin's nylon clad thighs. Once again her head hangs down; her hair flows and pools at the older woman's feet. This time it is not boot-leather Caroline's cheek brushes against but the fine nylon of Lady Dammartin's stockinged calf.

Caroline flinches when Lady Dammartin's hand gently skims the surface of her right buttock for the first time. "What an awful man he is to have left your sweet flesh so horribly bruised," Lady Dammartin says to Caroline as she leans forward and gently kisses each of Caroline's buttock cheeks, one and then the other. Just a peck.

"How hard did he strike you?"

"So that it hurt a lot, m'lady."

"As hard as this?" And with that, Lady Dammartin slaps Caroline firmly, but only once. After what Caroline has endured at the hands of this woman's husband it is almost a caress, though because her buttocks are still smarting, the slap does sting. "As hard as that?" she asks again.

"No. Much harder, m'lady."

"Perhaps as hard as this?"

Another slap.

"Almost," Caroline says through gritted teeth.

She pauses and calls to Old James, "James, please, will you bring my hairbrush from the dresser."

James does as he is told. The brush is part of a dressing table set, is large and has a decorated enamelled back in which the spines are embedded. Lady Dammartin brings the lacquered side down on Caroline's backside without warning. Caroline shrieks in surprise.

"As hard as that, maybe?"

"Yes. It was like that, m'lady," Caroline gasps. There are tears in her eyes, not from the pain but from the shock. She had expected consideration from this older woman,  to be mothered a little.

"You poor girl. I think I understand now what an absolute beast that man can be. James! Bring me soothing lotions."

Lady Dammartin takes the bottle that James delivers to her, untwists the cap and pours a great dollop of the viscous cream onto Caroline's buttocks. Its coolness is an immediate balm that Lady Dammartin massages into Caroline's still stinging flesh.

She uses both hands, and they slide this way and that over Caroline's rounded rump. As her palms work on Caroline's sore buttocks, Lady Dammartin sings a lullaby that Caroline does not understand the words to, though she knows it is French. The aristocrat's singing voice is pitch perfect, the result of a childhood rich in all the arts a young woman is required to master.

When she pauses to apply more lotion, Lady Dammartin says to Old James, "Do you think the girl pretty, James? You have my permission to speak your mind."

"Very pretty, my lady," Old James says.

"Her skin is so pale and smooth. I imagine men want to eat you all up, don't they, young lady? And I can also imagine you would enjoy their eating you all up, given half the chance."

"Only my husband, m'lady."

"Come now, girl. You must see how men watch you, realise what their thoughts must be. I imagine even as I speak you are contemplating what it would be like to have Old James eating you all up."

"If you say so m'lady."

"Oh, I do say so."

"Would you like to eat the girl, James?"

"Only if Lady Dammartin feels it would be appropriate."

As Lady Dammartin's hands slide over Caroline's backside, little by little her right-hand turns edge on. karate-chop style and sinks between Caroline's cushioning buttock halves. Lady Dammartin's hand movement becomes saw-like, back and forth it goes as if it really were a saw whose teeth are cutting deep into timber. Soon the hand as a blade is almost lost to sight, and every now and then Caroline lets out a gasp as Lady Dammartin's little finger brushes her anus.

 Since her experience at the hands of Lord Dammartin, Caroline's body and mind have burned with an unsatisfied craving to be worked to orgasm.  When Lord Dammartin had finally sent her packing, her disappointment had been profound. Now, for all her previous ambivalent if-ing and are-ing over the rights and wrongs of lesbian sex, she is now more than happy for Lady Dammartin to finish off what her husband only half an hour began.

Lady Dammartin's hand emerges from between the squeeze of Caroline's buttocks still slick with lotion. Now she uses both hands to gently part Caroline legs before sending a single hand down in a swallow dive between them. Soon fingers cut clean and fast into Caroline's labia's lips to be sent back and forth with exquisite tenderness. The hand's extended fingers begin a slow advance in search of a clit to stir, a soft palm follows to seal Caroline's cunt. Soon, Lady Dammartin's fingers commence a fluid pizzicato over Caroline's clitoris.

And then, just as Caroline is on the brink of orgasm, Lady Dammarin stops her finger-picking and removes her hand.

 She eases Caroline to her feet and says to Old James, "I think I have her nicely primed, James. If you would care to take the reins?"

"Of course, Lady Dammartin.

 To be snatched for the edge of orgasm leaves Caroline hardly knowing if she's coming or going. Someone is behind her. It must be James. Yes, he is supporting her, and she leans back against him. She hopes he will stay where he is. She knows her legs will not take her weight if he moves away.  Yes, his arms are around her. One hand cups her right breast while the other hand stretches low to squeeze the pudge of her mons before gliding down to take up the tune Lady Dammartin was playing on her clit moments before. His breath is fast, fervid on her neck and shoulders, his erection through his breeches is an iron rod of discomfort against her lower spine.

"Do you like her, James."

"Very much, My Lady."

"Like her as much as you like me?"

"It hurts that you even suggest such a thing, My Lady," James says.  His fingers are now sticky with Caroline's cum.

"And if I were to ask, would you relinquish such a beautiful creature and come to me."

"In an instant, My Lady."

"Let her be then. Call the girls, one of them can to take the silly creature away." She turns to Caroline and says. "Please dress now. I have no further use for you. You will have to wait on the blue chair."

Old James moves away, and Caroline is left in desperate need. She touches the place where Old James's fingers have left her so wet.

Old James pulls the chord that will summon Tillycoat and Nibley, and when his errand is completed, he stands and undresses slowly, methodically, folding each item of clothing before laying it down on the chair close at hand. Caroline notices the dwindling of the erection that moments ago pushed at his breeches and into her back.

Lady Dammartin removes her chamise to reveal her large but firm breasts. Caroline thinks Old James and Lady Dammartin are like a husband and wife getting ready for bed. But Caroline watches closely, dares not relax her vigilance. Things are never as they seem in this house. She remains apprehensive as a surreal scene starts to unfold about her.

She has never seen a mature woman nearly naked — for Lady, Dammartin is not entirely bare, she has retained her stockings, suspenders and heels. The aristocrat's heavy breasts draw Caroline's eyes. As well as having a voluptuous body, skin unblemished, Lady Dammartin is tall, nearing six-foot, and Caroline finds the older woman's fulfilled ripeness strangely appealing. She wishes now that she could be held by this woman, imagines herself swaddled in her arms, a cheek resting against one of those breasts and about to be subsumed by all her womanliness.

There is a stout chord that hangs in the corner of the room. James lets out a length and Caroline sees a hook suspended from rope descending from the high ceiling. He brings handcuffs with which he secures his mistress's wrists before her. So restrained, he leads her to the hook and attaches the cuffs to the hook. He returns to the rope that lowered the hook and pulls on it until Lady Dammartin's arms and hands start to rise, and her body follows, stretches out. Caroline sees her ribs. Her weight is barely supported on her tip-toes. Her stocking heels vacate her shoes.

From a tall cupboard, James brings out a something Carolie finds hard to put a name to. It consists of many peacock feathers; all eyes of greens and electric blue, the shafts of which are rooted in a cylindrical, ivory handle. As he walks past Caroline with it in his hand, a gentle waft of some sickening musk scent settles about her.

Old James stands behind the stretched Lady Dammartin, who is still in her stockings and heels. He passes the feathers up and down his mistress's back, wafts her sides as if dusting large furniture. He attends to her inner arm and armpits, then down between her parted legs, her inner thigh, finally her calves. And as he does so, Lady Damartin is cooing and ah-ing in appreciation. Every now and then he strikes her with the feathers, and she cries out in mock pain.

Servant and mistress are just warming to their game when the two female servants arrive. They stand side by side just inside the door they have just entered through. Tillycoat's face is expressionless as she watches Old James gently thrashing lady Dammartin with the peacock feather wand, while Nibley wears a smirk that she does not try to disguise. The two women turn and look at each other, and then as if on cue they begin to walk purposefully towards the cuffed and hung Lady Dammartin.

Each girl takes one of the aristocrat's nipples in her mouth. They do not have to bend, neither servant is tall, so their mouths are just right to access the stretched Lady Dammartin's breasts. To Caroline, it is if the two women feed on their mistress while their hands roam searching out hidden nipples to later succour from.

James is behind Lady Dammartin. His cock is fully hard now, and Caroline wishes she could be the centre of its attention as he rubs it about Lady Dammartin's rump. Tillycoat and Nibley pleasure their mistress with what appears to Caroline an uncannily, synchronised ease. Symmetrically they attend to her body, mouths flowing smoothly from her breast to her sides, the tender flesh just before her underarms, then quickly up to lick Lady Dammarton's armpits proper. Then it is her inner arm, wrists and palms that are orally lavished, and then back again to arrive and once more spend time on her breasts.

And then off the pair go again, working downwards this time. When the heads of the two girls come to Lady Dammarton's pubes, the servants seem unwilling to let the other full access to her cunt, and so kneeling before their mistress they share a kiss. Soon their tongues have moved on to traverse stockinged legs. When they reached her feet, they remove her shoes and attend to her soles and toes, and lady Dammartin dangles helplessly of the ground until James takes her from behind and supports her weight.

Lady Dammartin gasps her words: "Oh, James. You are too cruel to deny my hands the pleasure of touching the bodies of those that torment me like this. Cut me down so we can play as equals."

The way the three servants attend to Lady Dammartin makes Caroline ache to be treated the same. Caroline resents that she has received nothing but a terse spanking, and she watches enviously as the three servants stroke, kiss, and lick every inch of Lady Dammartin's body.

Old James goes over and slackens the chord that holds Lady Dammartin aloft. As she is lowered, the two female servants support her until her feet once again are accustomed to taking her weight. They aid her to her enormous four-poster bed where Tillycoat's head goes quickly between her legs. As she licks Lady Dammartin's cunt, her arms stretch to spitefully pinch her nipples.

While Tillycoat sees to their mistress,  Nibley removes her skirt, apron and blouse. She has small, shapely breasts, a narrow waist, delicate frame. She reaches into a drawer and takes out a strap-on dildo. Its leather fastenings dangle as she struggles to position it into places on her hips over her sheer, black tights. Old James sees her clumsy fumbling and comes to help.

To Caroline, the dildo looks ungainly, and she tries to image herself wearing such an outlandish object. She cannot see how she would ever be able to exercise any control over such a thing. When the dildo is in place, Nibley goes and kneels on the bed. She touches Tillycoat's foot to indicate she is to move aside. Lady Dammartin sees Nibley and her Dildo, and smiles.

She widens her legs and brings back her knees to displays her raw cunt, rich and dark with abundant hair. In seconds, Nibley is between her legs, her hand carefully guiding the unwieldy phallus into place. When she has it just so, Caroline sees Nibley lean and lunge, then she is fucking her ladyship just as a man might.

Old James speaks to Tillycoat, and the girl comes to Caroline and tells her she must come away with her. Miss Dammartin wants to see Caroline.

"I want to stay and watch," Caroline says.

"For a moment only," Tillycaot says, and takes Caroline's hand and leads her to the side of the bed where Nibley continues to fuck her mistress.

Lady Dammartin raises her arms to cup Nibley's face as the girl increases her pace. "You wonderful, wonderful girl," the woman calls to her servant. "Yes. Yes! You have me." She turns her head slightly, and their sees Caroline, "Oh, the pretty foundling is still here. Perhaps I was rash to dismiss you, but my daughter will not be put off. You must go to her. But first a kiss."

Caroline stands dumbfounded. She does not want to kiss this older woman and looks at Tillycoat for a means of escape. But Tillycoat gently urges Caroline forward, places her hand on her head to pushes it down so that Caroline's face is inches above Lady Dammartin, from where there is no escaping the aristocrat's insistent eyes.

And then Caroline is kissing lady Dammartin. Even though there is no appeal in what she begins, she is determined not to baulk at this distasteful undertaking. She finds the aristocrat's mouth all tang and sloshing tongue, her lips an over-sticky lip-gloss treat. Within their kiss, Caroline discovers the aristocrat's lack, her need, her urgency. It is as if life is flying from the older woman and she is desperate to claim some of the vitality and youth that Caroline possesses in such abundance.

Lady Dammartin's desperation elicits from Caroline a heartfelt desire to please her, to show the older woman that she is beautiful even in middle-age. In a year or two, Lady Dammartin will begin to tread the foothills of her beauty's decline. Caroline suddenly realises a similar loss will come to her too, one day.  Soon Caroline forgets whose mouth it is, and their kissing becomes fluid, all-consuming, as effortless as kissing the most handsome of youths.

Tillycoat begins to tug at Caroline's shoulder. They must go, she insists. But Caroline wants more than anything to please Lady Dammartin. As she continues to kiss her, Caroline's hand slides down her body and comes to rest between the aristocrat's legs, just above the spot where Nibley's phallus comes and goes. Caroline's begins to bring Lady Dammartin to climax with her fingers, but Nibley's thrusts interrupt her rhythm.

Even so, it does not take long before the aristocrat is teetering on the edge of orgasm and trying to delay its onset and struggles to stall her completion until the last possible moment. But the combined stimulation of dildo and Caroline's fingers push her into a free-fall of ecstasy, and her orgasm washes through her entire body like a spring tide. As she groans and twists in a plummeting self-loss, Lady Dammartin takes hold of Caroline's head and holds it to clamp and seal old and young lips together until the older woman's body at last calms.  

When it is over, Caroline can hardly breathe, is overwhelmed at how she kissed this woman continually while in imbibing her orgasm through tongue and lips. She drops to her knees at Lady Dammartin's bedside and gulps the air.

                         *****************************************

Tillycoat escorts Caroline to Miss Dammartin.

"Oh, my! You poor dear. You really have been through the mill since our last encounter, haven't you," Penelope Dammartin says when Caroline first enters her room. "Oh! I see you called in on Ma-ma, then?"

"What makes you think that?"

"You have half her lipstick smeared about your face."

Caroline wipes her lips with the back of her hand, says, "I had no say in it."

Penelope passes a clean handkerchief to Caroline. "Here, use this, not your arm. Didn't they teach you anything at school?" She watches as Caroline cleans her face. "Ma-ma doesn't usually concern herself with father's girls, so I do hope you appreciate what a privilege it is to be asked to call on her in her private quarters. Whatever it is she has had you doing, it's left you looking completely discombobulated."

Penelope looks Caroline over one more time before saying, "I'd like you over on the couch if you please. I don't have much time. My friend will be here soon."

Caroline stares at Penelope. She can hardly believe that this person, a girl no older than herself, is speaking to her as if she were another servant.

"Snap to it! I haven't got all night," Penelope says.

"Not until you tell me what you want me for," Caroline says.

"For for pity's sake, has no one explained how things are done in this house?"

"You people are driving me piggin' nuts. No one has explained anything."

"Typical! As usual, an explanation is down to me." Penelope seems to take a breath before she begins: "You see, daddy likes me to do a portrait of his girls — a kind of trophy. Silly, I know, but he insists on having something to remember you all by. You know, a tiger skin from the hunt and all that nonsense." She stares at Caroline, sees her incomprehension, says, "Oh my, you really are a bit of a dope, aren't you?"

If it were not for the explicit sexual nature of some of today's events, Caroline could believe this whole afternoon was an elaborate joke set up by Candid Camera.

"Couldn't you just take a photograph?"

"I do take photographs, but they rarely tell you anything about the person. But I do use them — as an aid to memory," Penelope says as she comes for Caroline to take her hand. "Come and see what I mean."

She leads Caroline through partition doors that lead into an adjoining apartment. The large room has all the trappings of an artist's studio. On the walls are countless examples of Penelope's work: landscapes, and portraits, and many abstracts, colourful, brash and chaotic.

"You really are an artist then?" Caroline asks.

"And you really do have a talent for stating the obvious. Now, this is what I want to show you. I'm really rather pleased with how it's turned out."

Perched on its easel in the centre of the room stands a life-sized portrait of a young girl with wild red hair. She is standing naked, her head turned slightly to look over her shoulder as if in expectation of an unwanted arrival. Caroline thinks she looks very ill at ease.

 "This is daddy's last girl — the one before you, that is, Her name was Harriette — well, that is what she said her name was, though she looked and spoke more like a Karen to my mind. Probably a shop girl like yourself. Very appealing to Daddy's gentlemen friends, though —  what with that waifish, little-girl-lost air she affected. See how tiny her breasts are?"

"She looks ever-so young," Caroline says.

"Oh, don't worry on that score: she was old enough. Older than you, but younger than I. Yes, Harriet was unfortunate enough to have those looks that can elicit the best in some and the worst in others. In fact, when she sat for me, there were times when I could have slapped her myself. The girl would just not keep still, nor shut up her inane prattle. Her head was full of such nonsense."
 
The painting is hardly a photographic record, more an expression of the subject's essence as perceived by the artist. To Caroline, the girl has a skittish unease about her that she imagines Lord Dammartin would find appealing. Perhaps Penelope was just trying to please her father in the way she has brought out that aspect of the subject — or maybe it was undeniably present, the artist capturing her intrinsic self at that moment in time.

Caroline can well believe this picture accurately shows Harriette as she might have appeared when brought to Penelope immediately following her session with Lord Dammartin; she can clearly see the girl's emotions all tumbled, and disorder from the thrashing just endured. Whatever the girl in the painting had just gone through, Penelope has caught how it has left her nervous and dazed. Caroline looks closer.

Yes, it is as if Harriette is expecting something much worse to befall her at any moment. Or maybe the girl was a natural actress, had played her part well, was just posing for the artist, just as Caroline feels she had played her role well and is now ready to sit as Penelope's subject.

Was that all it was; all an act, a mask affected to please this wealthy but degenerate family? But there is such untrusting expectation in those beautiful eyes, and just for one moment, the portrait of Harriet has made Caroline uneasy. Now she thinks of Joe, wants him with her.

 "Where's Joe? Where's my husband?" she suddenly asks, as if waking from a dream, not yet sure where she is.

"The good-looking, long-haired young man who was using our telephone earlier," Penelope says. "Is that your husband?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Luck you. I believe Harrington is driving him back to his car. When I've done with you, Harrington will run you home too. Now could you slip out of your dress for me, and I'll make a start."

"So Joe's not here? He's not coming for me?"

"No. Harrington has told him to go home. There's no point in him hanging around up here." Penelope sees Caroline distress. "Hey! Don't fret. The worst of it is over. I just need to get an impression of you down in black and white."

 Caroline wonders how Penelope will show her, and tries to think of things to say to try and calm herself. She asks casually, "How did you know I work in a shop?"

"Do you?" Penelope says. "They all work in a shop — or one of the mills."

"I work in Woolworths — on the record counter."

"How lovely for you."

Caroline turns her attention back to the canvas. "When was Harriette last here?" she asks.

"It's taken two months to finish, so that means I did the initial sketch back in July. But that one never came back to see the finished work."

"Why not?"

"Daddy asked, even wrote to her — she's married, you know. Has a baby and everything. I think her husband was the jealous sort."

"Does Lord Dammartin have many girls visit him?"

"Lots," Penelope says casually. It is as if Caroline has asked her whether her father has many books in his library. "I've painted ten over the last two years."

Caroline walks about the room looking at other paintings and sketches. She is looking for pictures of other girls. There is brunette reclining on the  Chaise Longue Caroline has seen in Penelope's room. This girl has a mischievous look in her eye, her body is voluptuous. Caroline imagine's Lord Dammartin finding her a handful to deal with.

There are others, and Caroline begins to ask about the girls in the paintings, but Penelope takes her hand, says, "I don't have time for any more questions,"  and leads her back into the bedroom and has her sit on a small sofa.
 
The two girls face each other on the sofa turned side on, still hand in hand.

"You seem a nice ordinary girl," Penelope says, her tone more human now. "What on earth made you want to play daddy's game?"

"Two hundred pounds; that's what."

She does not mention the bonus promised by Lady Dammartin.

"I suppose everyone has their price, it is a shame some are willing to sell themselves so cheaply. Now please undress so I can make a start."

Penelope leaves Caroline to undress. When she has gone, Caroline slips down her dress and sits clutching it waiting for Penelope to return. When she does, Penelope is holding a large sketchpad, pencils and charcoal. A camera dangles around her neck.

She looks at Caroline thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I've found who you are yet. It'll only come when I've spent time with your sketch and photos. For now, I'd say you have a quiet intelligence that hides something you're trying hard not to reveal. I can hardly make myself believe you work in Woolworths."

"I want to be a teacher," Caroline offers.

"Well bully for you," Penelope says. But she is concentrating now, says distractedly, "I'll try you in the window seat." She points it out.

Caroline walks over and sits down. She still grasps her dress in both hands.

"I'm not going to steal your dress, Caroline, so could you please lose it?"

Caroline cast aside her dress, watches where it falls, then looks expectantly at Penelope.

"Sit sideways and rest your back against the inset wall. Yes, like that. Now draw up your knees. No tighter, right up to your chest. That's right." She comes to Caroline, "and now if you could tilt your head and look at me. Good!  The camera will love your eyes." Penelope steps back and raises her camera. Caroline hears the rattle and clicks, the whirl of film turning, shot after shot.

She stops taking photographs for a moment, looks at Caroline thoughtfully. "Mmmm it would be a shame to ignore those breasts of yours. Let's try it with just one knee pulled up, the other leg extended straight, heel on the ground. Yes. Exactly! good."

"That should do," Penelope finally says, putting the camera aside, "Just a little something to work from later."

"You won't show anyone, will you."

"God, no! What do you take me for? In fact, you can have them when I'm done. The negatives too, if you like."

"Do you develop them yourself?"

"Of course. That's part of the fun."

Caroline turns away, looks down at the garden below, sees Perseus and his trophy gorgon's head.  A lightning flash is like strobe lights at a gig.

Penelope retreats to a chair and begins to sketch. It takes twenty minutes before she stands and says, "I have enough to make a start. It's been sweet working with you, Caroline. Much nicer I thought it would be.  Some of the mill town girls can be so obtuse. Now, do you think you can find your way back to the hall? No? I thought not. I'll call for one the staff."

                                            *********************

Fifteen minutes later Caroline is sat in the passenger seat of one of the estate's Landrovers. It is late evening, and there is a chill in the air and Harrington has found her a shawl to put around her shoulders and is about to drive her home.

Harrington asks where she lives. There something different about his tone. He has jettisoned the whole Jeeves routine.

"So what did you make of the old man?" he asks Caroline.

"Not much.

"And Lady Dammartin?"

 "I have my money — end of!"

"You do indeed," Harrington says. He should know, he's the one who handed it over a moment ago before they left the house. He starts the car, and they move from the inner courtyard onto the central driveway of the house.

"Those two girls...?"

"Tillycoat and Nibly? What about them?"

"Are those their real names?"

"The fuck are they. The redhead is Drenka, the brunette Olga."

"So why are they called Tillycoat and Nibley."

"They're the names of two nannies that once worked here when Lord Dammartin was a child."

"How many other girls have there been?" Caroline asks. "I don't mean servants — girls like me."

"Too many."

"And does his wife always pay interest in his girls. Caroline said she didn't."

"She rarely does. She has her own diversions. You're honoured."

"Oh? What kind of diversions?"

"I don't tell tales. I know which side my bread is buttered."

"His daughter — Penelope — showed me some of her paintings."

"She's talented, all right. She has a sister. Amelia, away at Oxford.  Araminta, an international model — don't you know. And a brother, Giles."

"Penelope showed me a painting of a girl. Redhead. Skinny and freckles. She said her name was Harriette?"

"Oh, that one?  Trouble!. It took a lot of readies to smooth that little affair over. But like I said, I don't gossip."

"Isn't it all a bit perverted... You know, how his daughter paints all the girls?"

"If you think this lot is bad, you should meet some of their friends. You don't know the half of it."

"I thought he might have wanted more than just to spank me."

"You're not the first one to leave the library feeling — how can I  put this: less than satisfied. Did you leave Lord Dammartin less than satisfied, Caroline?"

She does not answer, does not say how much she has been aroused by what she has witnessed and undergone, only for her to be selfishly sent packing.

"That's where I usually take the rudder — If you get my drift?"

His tone is so laden with innuendo that she could do little else but get his drift. She glances and sees his self-certainty, the sang-froid that only years as a staff sergeant in the Royal Marines can bestow on a man. She sees he is a handsome man; about thirty-five she reckons.

He knows she's deciding. "There is a place we can go."

"Where?"

"The old gate-lodge. There it is now." The headlights of the Land Rover illuminate the Tudor style facade of the lodge, and they pull into the small drive at its side.

She's naked yet again; for the fourth time. It has been the weirdest day of her life. First the polaroid shoot with Joe, then her spanking at the hands of a British lord, then Lady Dammartin and the servants, followed by a visit to the daughter and her art. Now she is now about to be fucked by a piggin' butler.  

She has no qualms about this. She deserves it. Joe won't mind. She'll tell him everything. After all, he said that if Lord Dammartin were to offer extras, she was to accept. And if this isn't extras, what is? This will be her real payment.

The lodge is furnished very cosily, Caroline thinks. He tells her it is often used to accommodate the staff of other visiting hob-nobs so is kept free of damp, and is regularly cleaned. He finds bedding, makes up a bed.

 They are upstairs, and Caroline is lying on the bed newly made up bed. They have not kissed yet. As he removes his clothes, Harrington talks to her:

"He'll send for you again. If he likes you, that is."

"Do you think he did?

"Like you? Of that, I'm sure. You're just his type."

"And what type am I?"

"Someone who is at home in their body; someone who has self-discipline; someone who can take what he gives in the way he wants to see it taken; a girl who responds to him in the way he wants his girls to respond. It also helps that you're an incredibly sexy young girl."

He lies beside her, and she turns on to her back for him, makes herself open to him.

"Some of the girls get invited to his special parties," he says as his finger circle her nipple.

"Why are they special?" she asks.

"The guests are what makes them special."

"Not the girls, then?"

"The girls are there as decoration, to please his special guests."

"Is to act as decoration the only reason the girls are there?"

"That depends on the girl. What would you like to happen if you were a piece of decoration at one of his parties?"

"Depends on the guest."

"What do you want now, Caroline. How do you want me to make love to you?"

She is touched that he has asked her this. She looks up into his eyes that are now directly above her. She smiles, raises her hand and presses it against his cheek.

"I want you to hold me," she says. "And I want you to kiss me for a long, long time, and I want to hold me as if you love me during all the time we kiss. And then I want you to fuck me and fuck me and fuck me."

He turns her on to her side, and they lie pressed together while he kisses her gently. They kiss, and it is such deep kissing, she hopes it will never end. It takes her breath away. His naked body long and smooth against hers draws forth her passion. Her nipples become electrified by a charge that surges back and forth across her adhering flesh, its current flows down through her body, over her muscled abdomen.

She is a void that draws him to fill her; him, this dour man, no one else.  She needs her all her silly mental chatter to be swept aside by the essence of his masculinity. She wants to be overwhelmed by his arrogant male impeccability. She wants him to slay a monster for her, hold high its head.

He breaks from her, watches his own hand glide over her body, her abdomen, her breasts, her neck. He touches her lips, and she licks his fingers.

He has kissed her every inch and has decided that to be between her legs is best of all, the smell of her, the battery tang of her rawness. He spends enough time, his tongue lapping, its actions guided by her cues and delicate touches to his head, and by the cooing and moans she gives when he has it right.

Once again she is on the brink, and she is afraid he will now abandon her at a point before culmination. But he stays, brings her to orgasm with a tongue that flickers and slurps. Her curled nails are in his hair, gripping hard but he does not falter. Her hips buck and twist. Her cries are loud and terrible.

But then he is up on his knees his cock in hand, its head all raw and primed. He enters her easily. His aim is faultless. Her tissue parts for him and her knees come back. He lunges, aiming for depth, thrusts as if he wants to mercifully finish her. And when he is as deep as deep can be, he pauses for just a second before becoming the implacable male thing she had hoped he would be.

Afterwards, he holds her to him, and his tenderness brings her close to tears. But she does not let them fall, just hugs him as tight as she can. She rests her face against his broad shoulder, savours the power of him, his long-established manhood. She thinks how her husband, though ripped with muscle, is still not physically complete. And she remembers how she and Joe embarked upon this path, and how they have both sworn total honesty with each other.

Now, as she lies in this older man's arms, even though she will keep her part in the agreement, tell Joe the details he will surely want to hear, she cannot see how she will ever be able to confess to him how in this moment, for the first time in her life, a man has brought her such perfect satisfaction.

It is midnight When Harrington drops Caroline off outside her house.

"What's your telephone number?" he asks. "Lord Dammartin may want you to visit again soon."

"We don't have a phone."

Harrington takes a pen and paper from the glovebox and jots down her address. He'll write to you beforehand.

"Will I see you again?" Caroline asks.

"If you want to. Do you want to?"

"More than anything." She leans to kiss him, but already he is opening his door.

He comes around to the passenger side and opens her door and stands aside for her. She slips out of the vehicle, stands, looks up at him as if a girl on a first date expecting her goodnight kiss.

But he does not kiss her goodnight, turns and says, "His lordship will be in touch."

She watches him jump back in the Land Rover and drive away. She does not slip her key into the latch until he has turned the corner.